UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


PHOTO    BY 

KOHLER, 

PASADENA, CAL 


ES  OF  REF 


BY 


ODELL  T.  FELLOWS 


PRESS     OF 

CEO.    A.    SWERDF1CER 
PASADENA,    CAL. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress 
in  the  year  1897  by  Odell  T.  Fellows,  in 
the  office  of  the  L  ibrarian  of  Congress  at 
Washington.  D.  C. 


0 


F5 


TO 


SARAH  PALMER  WELD, 
KENDUSKEAG,  MAINE. 


PREFACE. 

Not  all  of  the  contents  of  this  little  booklet  can 
properly  be  called  Reform  Poems,  but  it  is  thought 
that  a  sufficient  number  of  them  are  of  that  order 
to  warrant  the  title.  It  is  the  author's  first  venture, 
and  is  offered  to  the  public  without  apology,  in  the 
full  conviction  that  it  will  meet  with  only  the 
reception  which  it  merits,  and  nothing  more  is  desired. 
Should  the  result  be  anywise  encouraging,  it  will 
no  doubt  be  followed  by  others  from  the  same  source. 

O.   T.    F. 
Pasadena,    Cal.,    1897. 


INDEX. 

PAGK 
Mother's  Old  Wheel 5 

Turn  on  the  Light t 7 

The  Present  Hour 9 

Ruthless  Time 10 

Sons  of  the  Morning 11 

I  May  Be  Wrong 13 

The  Captain  and  Mate 14 

Conscience's  Voice 16 

Henry  George 17 

Pasadena 18 

My  Window 21 

Christmas  Greetings 22 

When  We  Meet  Again 23 

The  Song  from  the  Casement 24 

Guardian 25 

Anniversary  of  the  Rochester  Knockings 27 

Youth,  Health  and  Love 30 

Day-Dreams 32 

Morning,  Noon  and  Night 34 

The  Journey  of  Life 35 

The  Lovely  Dead 37 

The  Day's  Advance 38 

Dinner 40 

Reach  Me  Your  Hand 42 

Spring  on  Santa  Catalina 44 

Our  Castle  in  Spain 46 

Nineteen  Hundred 47 

From  My  Scrap-Book 49 

The  Angel's  Visit 51 


MOTHER'S  OLD   WHEEL. 

Alone  in  my  bachelor  quarters 

I  wait  for  the  coming  of  night; 
The  walls  of  my  "den"  are  gilded, 

The  fire  on  my  hearth  is  bright. 
Success  in  the  world  of  traffic, 

Has  crowned  my  tireless  zeal; 
But  I  hear  to-night  in  the  twilight 

The  sound  of  mother's  old  wheel. 

Oh,  many  the  days  and  years, 

Since  this  weary  race  begun! 
And  with  many  a  twist,  the  thread 

Of  my  life  is  nearly  spun. 
Success  is  a  failure  mostly, 

Then  blame  me  not  if  I  feel 
That  I  hear  in  the  winds  at  twilight 

The  sound  of  mother's  old  wheel. 

On  the  well-worn  floor  of  the  kitchen 

It  stood  in  the  long  ago, 
And  the  patient  feet  of  the  spinner 

Walked  ever  to  and  fro. 
And  now  as  the  gathering  shadows 

Around  my  casement  steal; 
There's  a  wail  in  the  winds  of  evening 

That  sounds  like  mother's  old  wheel. 


MOTHER'S  OLD   WHEEL. 

Oh,  the  threads  of  our  lives  are  tangled 

And  twisted  in  many  a  knot! 
But  how  far  soever  they  lead  us, 

There's  ever  a  dearest  spot. 
And  the  place  and  the  sound  I'll  remember 

Till  I  pass  to  the  land  of  the  leal, 
Are  the  old  kitchen  floor  of  my  childhood 

And  the  sound  of  mother's  old  wheel. 


TURN   ON   THE   LIGHT. 

Turn  on  the  light! 
Unto  the  world's  awakened  sight, 
Reveal  the  glorious  heritage 
That  may  be  ours,  if  we  but  dare 
To  leave  the  past,  the  outgrown  age; 
Turn  to  the  future's  virgin  page, 
Inscribe  the  one  word  "Progress"  there, 
And,  standing  forth  in  manhood's  might, 
Turn  on  the  light. 

Turn  on  the  light! 

They  shun  it  not  who  love  the  right; 
But  wrong  and  error  flee  away, 
And  hide  from  out  its  living  rays 
As  evil  things  forsake  the  day, 
And,  in  their  dark  and  devious  ways, 
Their  mischief  plot.     But  all  shall  praise 
Brave  souls,  who,  in  the  strength  of  right, 
Turn  on  the  light. 

Turn  on  the  light! 

Though  envious  greed,  in  sore  affright, 
Shall  tremble  in  her  place  of  power; 
And  vainly  grasp  the  useless  hoard 
Of  ill-got  wealth.     This  very  hour 


TURN  ON  THE  LIGHT. 

I  see  the  threatening  storm-cloud  lower 
Where  bread  for  hungry  men  is  stored, 
And  law  but  mocks  them  in  their  plight — 
Turn  on  the  light. 

Turn  on  the  light! 
Ere  darkness  settles  into  night! 

Let  not  Columbia's  hallowed  soil, 
That  holds  the  dust  of  Washington 
Who  fought  to  free  the  sons  of  toil, 
His  name  forgot,  his  fame  despoil, 
A  deathless  fame  so  nobly  won! 
In  his  dear  name,  in  Heaven's  sight. 
Turn  on  the  light. 


THE  PRESENT  HOUR. 

This  is  the  hour  that's  big  with  fate, 
And  while  our  hearts  expectant  wait 
Within  the  hush  before  the  storm, 
We  nurse  our  hope  to  keep  it  warm, — 
Our  hope,  well-ni^h  disconsolate. 

O  darkening  skies  of  Freedom's  land, 

Be  ours  thy  fury  to  command! 
Why.  this  foreboding  in  the  soul 
That  we  may  view  thy  tempests  roll 

By  lightning  flash  and  blazing  brand? 

And  was  it  this  for  which  they  fought, 
Who  counted  life  as  less  than  naught 

When  human  rights  were  trampled  down? 

And  unto  him  who  wore  the  crown 
Said  "See,  oh,  see  thou  do  it  not!" 

Be  wise  in  time,  O  ye  who  take 
From  Labor's  meed;    or  ye  may  wake 
To  hear  from  huts  where  sorrows  dwell 
With  rising  power  the  chorus  swell: 
"Yet  once  again  for  Freedom's  sake!" 


RUTHLESS    TIME. 

Now  time  again  is  at  its  flood, 
And  great  events  come  trooping  past 
Like  maskers  at  a  carnival; 
And  some  we  see  in  friendly  guise 
And  some  in  masks  of  grief  and  loss, 
Whose  other  names  are  joy  and  gain; 
And  dire  misfortune,  which  we  dread, 
Like  visits  of  the  angel  Death. 

Along  the  shore  lies  strewn  the  wrecks 
Of  shattered  hopes,  that,  putting  forth 
In  morning's  prime,  essayed  in  vain 
To  ride  upon  tempestuous  seas 
Without  a  firm  and  practiced  hand 
To  guide  their  bark  among  the  shoals 
Of  life,  where  sunken  rocks  lay  thick, 
With  jaws  as  cruel  as  death  itself. 

So  time  flows  on.      With  ruthless  hand 
The  shrinking  soul  is  thrust  aside, 
As  down  the  teeming  ways  of  life 
The  multitude  still  hurries  on. 
And  other  barks  are  putting  forth 
Upon  the  voyage  untried,  unknown, 
And  they  shall  suffer  shipwreck,  too; 
And  thus  till  time  shall  be  no  more. 


10 


SONS   OF   THE   MORNING. 

O  sons  of  the  morning,  awake  ! 

Heard  ye  not  the  loud  call  to  the  fray  ? 
The  forms  of  oppression,  the  slayers  of  right, 
That  have  lurked  in  the  shadows  and  gloom  of  the  night, 

They  surely  are  passing  away. 

O  sons  of  the  morning,  arise  ! 

The  sky  is  resplendent  in  hue. 

Where  the  fields  have  been  sown  by  the  wisdom  of  years 
And  watered  and  kept  by  humanity's  tears, 

The  harvest  is  waiting  for  you. 

Brave  sons  of  the  morning,  we  wait, 

And  hope  lives  within  us  again, 
That  justice  shall  rise  from  the  gloom  of  the  past 
And  the  soul  of  the  people  be  lifted  at  last 

From  out  of  its  travail  and  pain. 

Glad  sons  of  the  morning,  take  heart, 

Your  words  they  are  with  us  today, 
And  they  fill  us  with  hope  and  with  courage  to  fight, 
Till  the  hosts  of  oppression,  the  foes  of  the  right, 

Shall  be  conquered  forever  and  aye. 

11 


SONS  OF  THE  MORNING. 

And  then,  O  ye  glorious  sons 
Of  a  day  that  is  dawning  at  last! 
Shall  we  bask  in  the  light  of  fraternity's  ray 
And  the  nightmare  of  poverty  vanish  away 
Like  a  hideous  dream  that  is  past? 


12 


I   MAY    BE   WRONG. 

It  seems  to  me  the  day  is  long 

Since  politicians  tried  to  do, 
When  they  were  sent  to  make  the  laws, 

One-half  the  things  they  promised  to. 
But  when  it  comes  to  making  "stuff," 

They  work  together  good  and  strong, 
And  get  themselves  fixed  well  enough; 

But  then,  of  course,  I  may  be  wrong. 

I  can't  help  thinking,  right  or  wrong, 

It's  a  disgrace,  a  lasting  shame, 
When  legislators  play  the  thief, 

And  call  themselves  another  name. 
A  people  outraged  and  betrayed 

Should  make  them  sing  a  sadder  song; 
Could  they  be  stripped  and  whipped  and  flayed 

It  might  not  be  so  very  wrong. 

But  be  it  so,  I'll  sing  my  song, 

And  pray  the  day  may  swiftly  come 
When  those  who  serve  themselves  alone, 

We  shall  elect  to  stay  at  home. 
When  men  and  patriots,  true  and  tried, 

The  halls  of  state  shall  thickly  throng, 
But  while  I  pray,  and  hope  beside, 

I  may  be  wrong,  I  may  be  wrong. 

13 


THE  CAPTAIN   AND  .  MATE. 

It  was  night  on  the  deep,  and  the  waters  reposed 
Like  the  unquiet  sleeper;  faint  stars  were  disclosed 
By  the  rifts  in  the  clouds  which  had  gathered  around, 
And  the  silence  of  midnight  was  deep  and  profound. 

All  idly  and  purposeless  drifted  my  bark 
On  the  face  of  the  waters  so  dreary  and  dark; 
The  fitful  winds  fanned  me  and  bore  me  away, 
While  I  waited  and  watched  for  the  coming  of  day. 

But  now  on  my  listening  ear,  faintly  and  sweet, 
Fell  the  sound  of  an  oar  with  its  rythmical  beat; 
And  I  saw  through  the  gloom,  with  her  colors  on  high, 
A  fair  goodly  ship  that  was  passing  me  by. 

Bearing  straight  on  her  course  like  the  dread  ship  of  fate, 
At  her  prow,  side  by  side,  stood  the  Captain  and  Mate; 
And  I  eagerly  hailed  from  my  fullness  of  heart, 
For  I  was  drifting  alone,  without  rudder  or  chart. 

Would  they  hear?    Would  they  heed?    Would  they  come 

to  my  side  ? 

Or  leave  me  to  drift  on  the  waters  so  wide? 
I  could  only  call  loudly  and  breathlessly  wait 
Till  the  answer  came  back  from  the  Captain  and  Mate. 

14 


THE  CAPTAIN  AND  MATE. 

And  it  came;  and  with  song  and  with  answering  shout 

The  ship,  in  the  darkness  of  night,  put  about, 

And  came  to  my  side  in  response  to  my  hail, 

And  the  Captain  and  Mate  clasped  my  hand  o'er  the  rail. 

And  I  said:    "Where  away  through  the  gloom  and  the 

night  ? 

Is  the  haven  ahead  ?     Is  the  harbor  in  sight  ? 
Is  there  land  in  the  distance?  Oh,  tell  me  I  pray, 
Is  the  night  nearly  gone?  Is  there  sign  of  the  day?" 

Then  they  answered  me  calmly:  "The  night  speeds  away; 
We  behold  in  the  east  the  faint  flush  of  the  day. 
We  have  come  from  the  west  where  the  shadows  are  born, 
And  we  sail  to  the  east,  to  the  land  of  the  morn.  " 

They  were  off  and  away  toward  the  dim  distant  land, 
And  I,  seizing  an  oar  with  a  resolute  hand, 
Followed  fast  in  their  wake  with  a  confident  stroke, 
Until  soon,  o'er  the  waters,  the  rising  day  broke. 

And  we  entered  the  harbor,  and  soft  was  the  breeze, 
And  before  was  the  land  with  its  flowers  and  trees, 
With  the  songs  of  sweet  birds  and  music  of  rills, 
And  the  bluest  of  skies  o'er  the  greenest  of  hills. 

Now  the  anchor  I  cast  in  the  harbor  of  rest, 

In  the  sight  of  the  land,  the  bright  land  of  the  blest; 

No  longer  to  drift,  or  to  hopelessly  wait, 

For  I'm  guided  to  port  by  the  Captain  and  Mate. 

15 


CONSCIENCE'S  VOICE. 

Like  the  water's  rythmic  flow 
Underneath  the  ice  and  snow, 
Conscience's  voice  doth  whisper  low. 

'Tis  the  power  that  in  us  lies 
From  the  old  estate  to  rise, 
Phoenix-like  to  fairer  skies. 

By  this  light  that  burns  within, 
Seek  each  soul-destroying  sin — 
Self-approval  seek  to  win. 

Xot  by  dragging  others  down 
Shall  we  gain  the  victor's  crown, 
Rich  reward  or  great  renown. 

Not  by  stalking  through  the  land 

With  iconoclastic  hand, 

Smiting  all  the  shrines  that  stand. 

But  by  love  we  bear  the  new, 
By  the  god-like  will  to  do; 
Cherishing  the  good  and  true. 

By  the  light  that  gilds  the  skies, 
Brighter  where  our  pathway  lies, 
By  the  faith  that  never  dies. 


16 


HENRY  GEORGE. 

Upon  his  bed  in  painless  sleep 
He  resteth  now,  he  resteth  well, 

While  grateful  hearts  his  memory  keep 
And  loving  lips  his  praises  tell. 

So  well  he  strove  for  truth  and  right, 

For  justice  to  the  toiling  one, 
That,  though  his  face  be  lost  to  sight, 

His  words  shall  live  till  time  is  done. 

No  despot,  seated  on  the  throne, 

But  blanched  with  fear  to  hear  his  voice; 

He  bade  the  wrong  be  overthrown; 
He  bade  the  hopeless  one  rejoice. 

For  right,  he  said,  should  win  the  day, 
Though  long  delayed  by  selfish  greed; 

The  good  time,  once  so  far  away, 
Since  he  has  lived,  is  near,  indeed. 

So  at  the  front  he  bravely  fell; 

Oh,  glorious  fate!  Oh,  happy  lot! 
'Tis  well,  ye  struggling  ones,  'tis  well! 

For  Henry  George  is  not  forgot. 


17 


PASADENA. 

Pasadena!  have  you  seen  her, 
Fairest  maid  beneath  the  sun? 

With  the  sea  of  bloom  about  her, 
Where  the  tides  of  summer  run? 

Waves  of  perfume  and  of  color 
Roll  upon  the  magic  strand; 

While  the  mountains,  grim  and  stately, 
As  a  guard  around  her  stand. 

Pasadena!   I  have  seen  her 
With  the  glory  on  her  brow, 

And  the  vision  of  her  splendor 
Lingers  in  my  memory  now. 

WTith  the  light  of  joy  around  her, 
With  a  smile  upon  her  face, 

Bearing  balm  of  health  and  healing 
For  the  children  of  the  race. 

Fairer  palaces  than  ever 

Graced  the  hills  of  classic  Greece, 
Testify  to  grand  achievements 

In  the  arts  of  love  and  peace. 


18 


PASADENA. 

Fountains  play  in  shady  bowers, 
Fruits  hang  ripening  in  the  sun, 

Whispering  leaves  and  smiling  flowers 
Welcome  speak  to  every  one. 

Not  the  poor  and  not  the  needy 
In  those  bowers  of  beauty  dream; 

Nay,  there  are  no  poor  and  needy 
In  this  city  of  my  dream. 

All  the  want  and  all  the  sorrow 
That  our  hearts  congeal  today, 

In  the  warmth  of  love  fraternal, 
Have  forever  passed  away. 

Oh,  for  words  to  paint  it  truly! 

Oh,  for  painter's  brush  to  limn! 
Ere  the  vision  fade  forever 

From  my  memory  faint  and  dim. 

And  I  see  arise  before  me 

Pictures  full  of  shame  and  dread, 
Where,  within  a  land  of  plenty, 

Men  and  women  want  for  bread. 

Build,  O  brothers,  firm  and  lasting, 
Build  beside  the  living  stream, 

Build  upon  the  rock  of  ages, 
Build  the  city  of  my  dream! 


19 


PASADENA. 

Let  ine  see  its  towers  arising 

Where  the  plain  and  mountain  and  meet; 
Singing  grove  and  peaceful  grotto 

Haste,  Oh  hasten  to  complete! 

For  the  world  is  sick  vvitli  waiting; 

Brothers  perish  day  by  day; 
Build,.  Oh  build  the  promised  city, 

Do  not,  do  not  long  delay! 

Let  mine  eyes  behold  the  glory 

Of  this  earthly  paradise; 
They  will  gladly  close  forever 

When  that  blessed  morn  shall  rise. 


20 


MY  WINDOW. 

\Vhen  care  weighs  down  my  troubled  soul, 

I  seek  this  sheltered  seat, 
"When  passions  wild  brook  no  control," 

Let  this  be  my  retreat. 

Perhaps  a  memory  clings  around 

This  spot  so  strangely  dear, 
Perhaps  I  hold  it  hallowed  ground 

For  those  who've  lingered  here. 

Roll,  queenly  Moon,  more  softly  roll, 

Above  this  holy  place; 
Beam  calmly  on  this  troubled  soul, 

I  love  thy  pitying  face. 

Hast  thou  not  seen  what  other  eyes 

Will  never,  never  see? 
Hast  thou  not  seen,  in  mortal  guise, 

An  angel  here  with  me? 

Hast  thou  not  seen,  but  lisp  it  not, 

While  countless  seasons  run, 
"Two  souls  with  but  a  single  thought, 

Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one?" 


21 


CHRISTMAS    GREETINGS 

From  the  land  of  flowers  with  hand  and  heart, 

I  greet  you,  friend,  this  Christmas  ni^ht. 
Though  fate  decreed  that  we  should  part, 
Your  face  from  out  the  past  will  start 
To  keep  your  memory  ever  bright. 

By  the  cheerful  hearthfire's  ruddy  glow 

I  see  you  sit  in  glowing  light. 
Under  the  boughs  of  mistletoe, 
Where  laughing  faces  come  and  go, 

Yours  I  see,  this  Christmas  night. 

Mine  the  path  in  sunnier  climes, 

Beneath  the  skies  of  sunset  light; 
But  still  I  hear  the  merry  chimes, 
And  think  of  friends  of  those  old  times, 
And  wish  them  joy  this  Christmas  night. 


22 


WHEN  WE  MEET  AGAIN. 

L,ast  night  I  looked  from  out  my  door, 

The  slumbrous  moon  was  past  its  full; 
Strange  shapes  of  clouds  sailed  slow  before, 

Like  voyaging  ships,  with  sail  and  hull 
Distinct  outlined  on  night's  broad  sea, 

And  somehow,  cloud  and  moon  and  sky, 
With  subtle  charm  brought  back  to  me 

Another  night  long  since  gone  by. 

The  old  year  languished;  calm  and  still 

The  orange  groves  in  fragrance  slept; 
The  moon  had  climbed  the  distant  hill 

And  o'er  the  world  its  radiance  swept. 
The  lights  shone  out  from  windows  near, 

The  stars  came  forth  from  heaven  afar, 
But  what,  to  eyes  that  beamed  so  clear, 

Were  flickering  lamp  or  twinkling  star? 

O  night,  sweet  night,,  without  the  glare 

And  dust  of  noon,  or  busy  strife! 
When  cool  winds  fan  the  brow  of  care, 

And  grace  and  beauty  hallow  life. 
Pass  not,  sweet  hour,  too  swiftly  by, 

But  may  we  find  surcease  of  pain, 
And  gaze  upon  that  moon  and  sky 

When,  soul  to  soul,  we  meet  agrin. 

23 


THE  SONG  FROM  THE  CASEMENT. 

I  listened  and  lingered  long 

To  a  sound  that  floated  afar, 
To  the  sad,  sweet  words  of  a  song 

And  the  notes  of  a  throbbing  guitar. 

Till  the  tremulous  chords  had  died 
On  the  evening  drear  and  chill; 

Till  the  last  faint  echo  replied, 
And  all  was  solemn  and  still. 

But  the  ravishing  strains  I  heard 

Are  echoing  still  in  my  soul; 
Sweeter  than  song  of  a  bird 

Burst  forth  beyond  control. 

Oh,  singer  with  voice  divine! 

Your  song,  it  was  not  for  me; 
But  I  praise  you,  the  song  is  mine, 

Whoever,  wherever  you  be. 

In  the  evening  drear  sing  out, — 
In  the  night  through  dark  and  rain: 

Some  soul  in  the  gloom  without 
Shall  hear  that  heavenly  strain. 

For  never  a  song  was  sung 

But  formed  of  the  life  a  part. 
No  matter  how  winning  the  tongue, 

'Tis  the  song  that  reaches  the  heart. 

24 


GUARDIAN. 

She  found  me  wandering  lone  and  far, 
When  day  was  late  and  winds  were  chill, 

When  frowning  skies  revealed  no  star 
To  guide  my  steps  o'er  bare  bleak  hill, 

Or  wind-swept  plain,  where  bush  and  scaur 
My  terrors  mocked  with  echoes  shrill. 

I  heard  the  distant  ocean  roar 
In  endless  grief  on  its  wild  shore, 

And  o'er  my  head,  fierce  birds  of  prey. 

With  hoarse  cries,  mourned  the  dying  day 
When  lo!  she  came,  the  radiant  one, 

With  smiles  of  morning  on  her  face, 
And,  like  the  glorious  risen  sun, 

Her  presence  lighted  all  the  place. 

The  shadows  fled,  the  new  light  broke, 
From  doubt  and  fear  my  soul  awoke; 
No  more  dismayed  by  frowning  skies, 
Or  sea-birds  harsh,  discordant  cries, 

For  as  the  wind  of  morning  blows 
From  out  the  east  new  glories  rise. 

But  never  stars  in  heaven  rose 
That  matched_the  splendor  of  her  eyes, 


25 


GUARDIAN. 

And  since  one  word  from  those  sweet  lips, 
I  fear  no  more  night's  dark  eclipse. 

Though  winds  may  rave  and  oceans  roar, 
Though  stars  may  set  to  rise  no  more, 
The  ways  we  tread  through  seeming  night 
Are  but  as  pathways  toward  the  light. 

No  shore  so  lone,  no  land  so  drear, 
But  guardian  ones  are  hovering  near; 
No  gloom  so  deep,  no  plain  so  wide, 
That  man  from  his  own  soul  may  hide. 

Look  up,  sad  one,  when  fears  dismay, 

When  naught  but  gloom  around  thee  lies! 

It  is  thy  great,  thy  glorious  day, 
When  o'er  its  ills  thy  soul  may  rise. 

'Twas  given  thee  to  suffer  long, 

But  grand  the  meed  by  suffering  brought; 
To  rise  triumphant  over  wrong, 

And  reach  the  goal  which  thou  hast  sought. 


26 


ANNIVERSARY    OF    THE    ROCHESTER 
KNOCKINGS. 

Once  again  the  rolling  season 

Brings  the  promise  of  the  spring; 
Once  again,  beneath  the  starlight, 

Do  we  hear  the  angels  sing, 
As  they  sang  in  days  departed 

Heralding  the  Savior's  birth, 
So,  tonight,  in  joy  proclaiming 

Many  saviors  to  the  earth. 

Saving  from  the  sin  and  sorrow, 

From  the  woe  of  blindness  born, 
Leading  souls  from  out  the  darkness, 

Guiding  to  the  glorious  morn. 
Lo!  it  breaks,  the  day  of  promise, 

Higher  mounts  the  sun  of  truth, 
And  the  soul  of  man,  awaking, 

Revels  in  eternal  youth. 

Long  the  night  of  watching,  waiting, 

For  a  symbol  or  a  sign 
From  the  land  of  the  immortals, 

From  the  spheres  of  life  divine. 
And  it  came;  the  hour  propitious, 

Fate  no  longer  could  defer; 
'Twas  the  timid  knock  that  sounded 

In  that  home  in  Rochester. 

27 


ANNIVERSARY  OF  ROCHESTER  KNOCK  INGS. 

Faintly  knocking  at  the  portal 

Of  the  crumbling  house  of  clay, 
Knocking  till  the  stone  of  error 

From  the  tomb  is  rolled  away; 
And  the  Lord  of  Life  arising 

Walks  in  beauty  forth  again, 
Bearing  proofs  of  life  immortal 

To  the  waiting  sons  of  men. 

Want  and  sorrow,  clothed  in  tatters, 

Crouch  and  wait  beside  our  door; 
Sin  and  suffering,  boon  companions, 

Haunt  the  dwellings  of  the  poor. 
But  the  dawn  of  hope  draws  nearer 

For  the  outcast  arid  forlorn; 
Doubt  no  more  enshrouds  the  future, 

On  this  day  the  truth  was  born. 

Through  the  ways  of  doubt  and  error 

Groped  we  in  the  misty  past, 
Hoping,  struggling  and  despairing, 

'Mong  the  shadows  deep  and  vast; 
Baffled  by  the  hordes  of  evil, 

Overthrown  by  wrong  and  ill, 
Yet  o'er  all  the  god-like  spirit 

Rises,  and  is  living  still. 

Living  to  subdue  and  conquer 

Every  vile,  unworthy  thing, 
Every  thought  that,  born  of  evil, 

Lifts  its  head  to  strike  and  sting; 

28 


ANNIVERSARY  OF  ROCHESTER  KNOCKINGS. 

Crush  it  out,  the  selfish  motive, 

'Neath  the  heel  of  self-control; 
Straitway  build  upon  the  ruins, 

Fairer  structures  for  the  soul. 

Hark!  that  knock  tonight  is  sounding, 

Knocking,  knocking,  yet  again, 
Seeking  to  reveal  the  message 

Ivong  withheld  from  dying  men; 
Dying  in  anticipation 

Of  a  night  of  endless  gloom, 
Seeing  not  the  hope  that  glimmers 

Through  the  darkness  of  the  tomb. 

But  that  knock  has  come  to  waken 

From  the  sleep  of  ages  past, 
And  we  enter  at  the  doorway 

Of  the  house  of  God  at  last. 
As  we  wait  within  the  portal 

We  behold  the  dawning  light 
Faintly  shining  through  the  curtain 

Of  the  temple  of  the  night. 

LO!  the  night  is  nearly  ended, 

Day  has  set  his  seal  on  high; 
Broader  grows  the  flush  of  crimson 

Over  all  the  future's  sky. 
Superstition,  wrong  and  error 

Flee  before  the  rising  morn, 
Nature  wakes  to  join  the  chorus, 

On  this  day  the  truth  was  born. 

29 


YOUTH,  HEALTH  AND  LOVE. 

In  rosy  morn  from  out  my  door  I  gazed, 

And  lo!  I  saw  a  path  all  strewn  with  flowers; 
And  said,  with  swelling  heart,  "now  God  be  praised, 

The  fairest  way  in  this  fair  world  of  ours 
Is  mine  to  tread.     No  sorrow  lurks  beside; 

But  on  I'll  go  from  golden  day  to  day, 
With  Youth,  and  Health,  and  Love,  my  willing  bride, 

And  fairer  scenes  shall  open  all  the  way." 

We  sallied  forth.     The  day  was  young  and  bright; 

Sweet  youth  went  with  us  up  the  first  ascent; 
We  bravely  toiled,  but  thorns,  concealed  from  sight, 

Did  pierce  our  feet  and  hands  as  on  we  went. 
Then  Youth  forsook  me,  ever  fickle  Youth! 

But  what  cared  I  since  Health  and  L,ove  remained  ? 
I  waved  good-by,  and  said,  which  was  the  truth, 

That  I  had  lost  far  less  than  I  had  gained. 

But  now  the  path,  devoid  of  flowers  or  shade, 

L,ed  through  the  glare  and  dust  of  busy  marts, 
Where  clanging  hoofs  and  grinding  wheels  of  trade 

Drive  ever  over  quivering  human  hearts; 
Or  through  dim  halls,  where,  motionless  and  pale, 

L,ike  statues  sit,  from  weary  day  to  day, 
The  sons  of  toil;  here  Health  began  to  fail, 

And  drooped  and  died,  and  dropped  beside  the  way. 

30 


YOUTH,  HEALTH  AND  LOVE. 

But  Love  remains  through  dark  vicissitude, 

And  murmurs  not,  though  Youth  and  Health  are  gone. 
The  hour  grows  late,  the  winds  are  cold  and  rude, 

The  sky  o'ercast,  but  still  we  journey  on. 
No  accident  can  e'er  our  progress  stay; 

We  were,  we  are,  and  we  shall  ever  be. 
Though  Youth  and  Health  and  all  may  pass  away, 

Our  path  leads  on  throughout  eternity. 


31 


DAY-DREAMS. 

We  have  dreamed  of  fame  and  glory, 
We  have  dreamed  of  feats  sublime; 

And  wished  a  name  to  live  in  story, 
Sounding  down  the  aisles  of  time. 

We  have  fought  the  fight  of  anguish, 
We  have  battled  long  with  sin; 

Many  foes  without,  we've  vanquished, 
And  a  mightier  foe  within. 

All  of  life  is  incompleteness; 

All  of  youth  has  passed  away; 
Precious  few  the  drops  of  sweetness 

We  have  found  beside  the  way. 

Now  and  then  the  sunbeams  straying, 
All  the  joys  of  heaven  bring; 

Here  and  there  a  fount  is  playing, 
Here  and  there  the  sweet  birds  sing. 

We  may  say  in  aimless  living 
That  we  bow  to  God's  behest. 

We  may  tire  of  constant  striving, 
We  may  find  no  place  of  rest. 


32 


DA  Y- DREAMS. 

Yet  a  dream  we  ever  cherish, 
That  beyond  this  vale  of  tears, 

Waits  a  beauty  that  shall  perish 
Nevermore,  through  all  the  years. 

Courage  take  for  great  endeavor, 
Doubt  it  not,  this  truth  sublime, 

That  throughout  the  long  forever 

Stretch  the  heights  that  we  must  climb. 


S3 


MORNING,  NOON  AND  NIGHT. 

When  morning  comes  to  deck  the  east 

With  brightening  hues  of  red  and  gold; 
When,  like  one  bidden  to  the  feast, 
I  see  new  glories  quick  unfold; 
The  rising  day  to  me  is  sweet, 
For  at  its  close  we  two  shall  meet. 

When  noon  is  high  o'er  all  the  land — 
The  joyous  land  of  bud  and  bloom; 
When  flowers  smile  on  every  hand 
To  banish  all  my  thoughts  of  gloom; 
As  turns  the  flower  unto  the  sun, 
I  turn  to  you,  my  chosen  one. 

When  evening  shadows  gather  near 

And  wild  birds  seek  the  sheltering  tree; 
When  in  the  skies  the  stars  appear 
To  tell  their  tales  of  constancy, 
No  stars  I  need  to  light  my  skies 
For  light  that  beams  from  your  dear  eyes. 

When  comes  the  night  of  holy  calm, 

With  thoughts  of  you  my  dreams  are  blest; 
And  in  that  land  of  sleep  and  balm 
My  head  is  pillowed  on  your  breast; — 
I  start  and  wake;  dark  night  I  see, 
Until  you  smile  again  on  me. 

34 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  LIFE. 

Through  aland  that  was  beautiful,  smiling  and  glad, 
Once  methou^ht  I  was  journeying,  lonely  and  sad; 
For  the  way  that  I  travelled,  oh,  sad  is  the  tale! 
Had  a  wall  on  ea^h  side  which  I  never  could  scale. 

And  as  weary  I  walked  in  the  dust  and  the  heat, 

I  could  see  on  the  hillside  a  shady  retreat; 

But  my  feet  could  not  stray,  although  great  was  my  need, 

And  the  pain  of  my  journey  seemed  bitter  indeed. 

For  my  brain  was  afire  with  the  heat  and  the  thirst 
And  the  veins  of  my  temples  seemed  ready  to  burst, 
I  had  wandered  so  far,  I  had  suffered  it  all 
For  the  things  that  now  mocked  me,  just  over  the  wall. 

There  were  flowers  and  bowers,  and  fruit  of  the  vine 
And  the  peoples'  glad  song  as  they  pressed  out  the  wine; 
There  was  gold  of  the  orange  and  bloom  of  the  peach 
To  tempt  me  and  taunt  me,  just  out  of  my  reach. 

Some  would  pause  in  their  work  in  those  gardens  so  fair, 
And  would  carelessly  cast  on  the  traveller  there 
A  kind  look  of  compassion,  of  pity  I  thought, 
And  a  word  to  encourage,  my  straining  ear  caught. 

35 


THE  JOURNEY  OF  LIFE. 

Oh,  'twas  hard,  in  the  sight  of  those  bowers  of  bliss, 
To  be  toiling  along  on  a  journey  like  this; 
Far  behind  was  but  sorrow,  and  joy  that  was  dead, 
Far  away  in  the  future  the  dreary  way  led. 

Had  I  heard  not  the  songs  of  the  singers  that  wrought, 
Had  I  never  a  sound  of  their  loving  words  caught, 
Had  I  seen  not  the  flowers  and  fruitage  so  rare 
I  had  known  not  the  pangs  of  a  hopeless  despair. 

'Tis  the  sight  of  the  gladness  while  walking  in  gloom, 
'Tis  the  beauty  that  borders  the  path  to  the  tomb. 
Casts  the  shadow  that  falls  o'er  the  terrible  strife 
Where  the  soul  is  athirst  for  the  waters  of  life. 

'Tis,  O  mortal  wayfarer,  no  fancy  I  see, — 
'Tis  a  journey  that's  travelled  by  you  and  by  me: 
In  the  sight  of  the  joys  that  our  spirits  would  share 
Do  we  grope  in  the  dust  and  the  gloom  of  despair. 

Do  we  trust  at  the  end  there  is  rest  for  the  soul  ? 
'Tis  a  hope  that  enlivens  and  brightens  the  whole. 
It  is  all  that  we  have,  'tis  our  refuge  in  need, 
For  deprive  us  of  this  and  we  perish  indeed. 


THE  LOVELY  DEAD. 

The  form  of  grace,  the  sparkling  eye, 
The  heart  that  beat  with  pleasure; 

Fell  fate  decreed  that  she  should  die, 
Our  child,  our  countless  treasure. 

The  fairest  gem  vouchsafed  to  earth 
Returned  to  God  the  keeper; 

No  song  of  joy,  no  sound  of  mirth 
Can  wake  the  lovely  sleeper. 

The  saddened  home,  the  sacred  tomb, 

The  shadows  lifted  never, 
A  darker  night,  a  deeper  gloom 

Is  on  my  soul  forever. 


37 

a'76030 


THE  DAY'S  ADVANCE. 

Where  the  wild  Atlantic  surges  beat  the  cliffs  of  'Quoddy 

Head, 
O'er  the  ocean  dim  and  distant  first  appeared  the  rising 

day; 
Then  the  mists,  dispersed  and  scattered  by  the  shafts  the 

morning  shed, 

Fled  along  the  sounding  headlands  toward  the  isles  of 
Casco  Bay. 

Over  inland,  hill  and  river,  to  the  far  Aroostook  wild, 
Flashed  the  message  of  the  morning,    "L,o  the  day  is 

born  again!" 
Streamlets  laughed,   and  lakes  of  silver  in   the   face  of 

heaven  smiled, 

While  the  pine-tree  and    the  hemlock  whispered  back 
the  glad  refrain. 

Up  the  stretches  of  Penobscot,  past  the  Indian's  cabin 

lone, 
From  the  brows  of  old  Katahdin   gleamed  the  light  of 

glorious  day, 
And  from  Moosehead's  mighty  waters  rose  the  mists  of 

morning,  blown 

Toward  the  riotous  Androscoggin  thundering    down 
his  rocky  way. 

38 


THE  DAY'S  ADVANCE. 

Westward  still  the  hosts  of  morning,   speeding  on  the 

wings  of  light, 
Enter  not  the  slumbering  forest  where  the  shades  are 

dark  and  deep, 

But  they  climb  with   noiseless  footsteps  o'er  the  moun 
tain's  dizzy  height, 

L,eap  across  the  smiling  valleys  with  a  grand,    majestic 
sweep. 

O'er  the  lordly   Hudson   flashing,  soon  to  leave   it  far 

behind, 
Then  to  span  Niagara's  chasm  with  a  crescent  many- 

hued; 
Over  inland   sea   and   prairie,    faster    than    the    truant 

wind, 

Is  the  march   of  day  triumphant  through   the    desert 
solitude. 

Tarry  not,  O  bright  Evangel,  in  those  deserts    lone  and 

bare, 
Bring  the  message  to  thy  children  on  the   far    Pacific's 

shore; 
We  behold  thy  signs  appearing  through   the  night    of 

our  despair, 

And  we  watch  thy  glorious  coming  as  we  never  watch- 
before. 

We  are  brothers — we  are  brothers  of  the  stalwart  sons 

of  Maine, — 
We  would  clasp  our  hands  in  concord  o'er  the  nation 

of  our  dreams, 
With  no  lord  upon   her  highway  and  no  serf  upon   her 

plain, 

When  the  golden  gate  is  closing  on  the  day's  departing 
beams. 

39 


DINNER. 

O,  sweetest  sound  that  greets  the  ear! 
The  fire  bell  striking  loud  and  clear, 
And  hurried  tramp  of  horses'  feet 
In  the  engine  house  across  the  street; 
O,  blessed  hour  for  one  and  all 
To  hear  the  cook's  inviting  call: 
"Dinner!" 

Within  that  mansion  grand  and  lone, 
Where  Want,  the  spectre,  is  not  known; 
Where  silver  plate  and  mirror  blaze 
With  many  a  light's  reflected  rays, 
At  day's  decline  they  gather  round 
In  answer  to  that  magic  sound: 
"Dinner!" 

By  dusty  road,  by  iron  rail, 
Beside  the  desert's  dreary  trail, 
In  shady  bovver,  by  farm-yard  gate, 
The  weary  hobos  congregate 
To  share  what  luck  may  chance  to  bring 
For  their  repast,  and  call  the  thing 
"Dinner!" 

O,  ye  who  dine  from  costly  plate, 
Scorn  not  your  brother  at  the  gate; 
Throughout  a  life  of  selfish  ease 
What  have  ye  done  for  such  as  these  ? 

40 


DINNER. 

Do  ye,  when  shades  of  evening  fall, 
Extend  to  them  the  welcome  call: 
"Dinner?" 

Then  prate  no  more  of  Christian  faith, 
Nor  build  your  hopes  on  Him  who  saith, 
"Unto  the  least,"  the  outcast  poor, 
Who,  hungering  wait  beside  your  door, 
But  do  the  deeds  He  would  have  done, 
And  say  to  every  starving  one: 
"Dinner!" 


41 


REACH  ME  YOUR  HAND. 

Reach  me  your  hand,  down  from  the  heights  serene, 

Where  you  today  secure  and  smiling  stand; 
While  winds  blow  cold  and  night  comes  o'er  the  scene, 
Through  shadows  dark  and  yawning  gulf  between — 
Reach  me  your  hand. 

Reach  me  your  hand,  when  hope  is  almost  gone; 

I've  wandered  far  across  life's  desert  sand, 
But  now  to  see  you  in  the  glorious  dawn 
Away  to  turn,  and  sadly  journey  on — 

Reach  me  your  hand. 

Reach  me  your  hand,  I  cannot  wander  far, 

For  here  the  light  is  flooding  all  the  land; 
While  otherwhere  the  deepening  shadows  are, 
And  hopeless  night,  a  night  without  a  star, 
Reach  me  your  hand. 

Reach  me  your  hand,  I  will  not  go  away, 

I'll  climb  the  heights  my  longing  eyes  have  scanned, 
No  more  through  rough  and  devious  paths  to  stray. 
And  while  we  wait  to  greet  the  coming  day 

Reach  me  your  hand. 

42 


REACH  ME   YOUR  HAND. 

Reach  me  your  hand,  the  light  is  come  at  last, 

The  hills  of  morn,  by  freshening  breezes  fanned, 
Rejoice  together.     Night  and  gloom  are  past, 
Behold  the  day!     The  day  is  coming  fast — 
Reach  me  your  hand. 


43 


SPRING  ON  SANTA  CATALINA. 

The  winter  passed  with  wind  and  rain, 
And  fitful  scenes  of  shade  and  light. 
The  mists  came  drifting  off  the  main, 
And  loud  I  heard  the  waves  complain 
Upon  the  lonely  shore  at  night. 

Full  oft  I  watched  the  flying  bark 

That  labored  through  the  crested  waves, 

When  night  was  falling  drear  and  dark, 

With  not  a  star  or  light  to  mark 

Where  yawned  the  sailors'  watery  graves. 

And  ere  the  dawn  of  one  sad  day, 

I  know  the  spot,  upon  the  reef, 
Where,  in  the  rocks  and  dashing  spray 
By  treacherous  currents  borne  away, 

The  good  ship  struck,  and  came  to  grief. 

The  cruel  waves  upon  her  cast 

A  crushing  weight  of  waters  then; 
The  cruel  rocks,  they  held  her  fast, 
Away  went  shroud  and  spar  and  mast 
And  clinging  forms  of  drowning  men. 


44 


SPRING  ON  SANTA   C ATA  LIN  A. 

Another  picture  comes  the  while; 

The  sun  returns  to  cheer  and  bless, 
The  tempest  stilled,  the  waters  smile, 
And  over  all  th'  enchanted  isle 

The  flowers  feel  the  spring's  caress. 

And  bursting  forth  in  beauty  rare 

A  wealth  of  golden  poppies  spread, 
As  if  the  sunbeams,  passing  fair, 
Were  well  content  to  linger  there 
Upon  each  floweret's  modest  head. 

And  all  the  sounds  that  come  to  me 

Are  call  of  quail  from  canyon  lone. 
The  waters  murmuring  toward  the  sea, 
The  whispering  breeze  within  the  tree, 
And  lapse  of  wave  o'er  shell  and  stone. 

Oh,  fairer  than  a  poet's  dream, 

The  flowering  land,  the  flowing  sea! 
For  brighter  skies  could  never  beam, 
And  brighter  waves  could  never  gleam 
Upon  the  sands,  eternally. 


45 


OUR  CASTLE  IN  SPAIN. 

In  the  glorious  time  of  our  youthful  prime 

When  unknown  was  the  shadow  of  pain, 
And  the  world  was  ours  with  its  birds  and  flowers 

We  builded  our  castle  in  Spain. 
The  walls  they  were  jasper,  the  towers  were  gold, 

The  windows  looked  over  the  sea; 
But  alas!     Those  windows  are  dark  and  cold, 

And  cold  and  dark  shall  they  be. 

No  fire  is  alight  on  the  hearth  at  night, 

No  music  is  heard  in  the  hall, 
While  the  spectral  trees  as  they  sway  in  the  breeze 

Are  tapping  at  window  and  wall; 
And  bleak  desolation  is  reigning  supreme 

Where  gladness  did  only  abide, 
For  no  one  can  live  in  this  place  it  would  seem 

Since  the  lord  of  the  castle  has  died. 

Yes,  I  died  long  ago  in  the  night  of  my  woe 

When  they  bore  a  young  bride  from  the  door, 
And  my  body  with  her's  is  at  rest  'neath  the  firs 

On  the  cliff  by  the  storm-beaten  shore. 
But  at  night  when  the  moon,  rising  over  the  glen, 

Looks  in  at  the  desolate  pane 
There  are  strange  sights  and  sounds,  for  we  wander  again 

Through  the  halls  of  our  castle  in  Spain. 

46 


NINETEEN  HUNDRED. 

Nineteen  hundred,  magic  spell, 

I  can  read  thy  meaning  well; 

I  can  see  or  seem  to  see 

All  the  fate  that  waits  for  thee, 

And  my  heart,  though  strong  and  brave, 

Falters  that  I  may  not  save 

Friends  and  brothers  true  and  leal 

From  the  conflict  and  ordeal. 

But  thy  horoscope  is  clear, 
Year  of  fate  and  fateful  year. 
We  have  waited  'long  for  thee, 
Crowning  year  of  destiny. 
We  have  seen  thy  star  arise 
lyike  a  promise  through  the  skies, 
And  our  hearts  expectant  beat 
Till  thy  reign  shall  be  complete. 

Ere  we  see  thy  dawning:  day 

Thrones  may  pass  in  fire  away 

Ermine  robe  and  golden  crown 

In  the  dust  be  trampled  down. 

All  its  useless  hoard  of  gold 

Wealth  with  trembling  hands  shall  hold, 

Crouching  in  its  gilded  home, 

Ivo!  the  judgment  day  is  come. 

47 


NINETEEN  HUNDRED. 

Gold!  accursed  of  tongue  and  pen; 
Gold!  despair  of  toiling  men; 
Gold!  the  power  behind  the  throne, 
Gold  is  evil,  gold  alone. 
Haste  the  day  when  gold  shall  be 
Banished  with  plutocracy! 
Year  of  fate  and  fateful  year, 
Nineteen  Hundred  draweth  near. 


48 


FROM  MY  SCRAP-BOOK. 

Come  with  me  apart  from  the  maddening  throng 

And  cool  in  the  soft  summer  twilight  recline, 
While  I  read  you  my  treasures  of  poetry  and  song 

That  I've  hoarded  for  years  in  this  scrap-book  of  mine. 
They  are  culled  as  the  choicest  and  fairest  of  flowers 

That  have  bloomed  by  the  side  of  my  wearisome  way, 
And  the  comfort  and  solace  of  many  lone  hours 

Do  I  owe  to  the  gems  that  I  bring  you  today. 

They  will  whisper  of  hope  when  the  future  looks  dreary 

And  deep  are  the  shadows  that  darken  your  way; 
They  will  tell  you  of  rest  when  the  spirit  is  weary, 

Oppressed  by  the  burden  and  heat  of  the  day. 
So,  great  is  my  treasure  and  fain  would  I  share  it, 

'Twill  make  it  not  less  to  divide  it  with  you; 
No  burden  so  heavy  but  that  we  may  bear  it 

When  comforted,  strengthened  and  girded  anew. 

Here's  a  story  of  love,  'tis  so  touching  and  tender 

I  fear  if  I  read  it  your  eyes  will  o'erflow, 
And  yet,  all  the  wealth  of  its  beauty  and  splendor, 

And  feeling  sublime,  I  would  have  you  to  know. 
But  if,  in  the  reading,  when  utterance  fail  me, 

I  come  to  an  end  ere  the  story  be  through, 
As  the  strong  tides  of  feeling  rise  up  and  assail  me, 

You'll  call  me  not  weak  and  unworthy  of  you. 

49 


FROM  MY  SCRAP-BOOK. 

For  the  story  I  read  is  the  one  that  has  trembled 

Full  oft  on  my  lips  in  the  days  that  have  passed; 
But  I  feared  I  would  shatter  the  dream,  and  dissembled, 

And  sought  to  conceal  it  from  you  to  the  last. 
But  tenderly,  sweetly,  the  words  of  the  poet 

Have  opened  the  portal  to  feelings  divine, 
And  you  understand,  for  your  beaming  eyes  show  it, 

And  thankful  am  I  for  this  scrap-book  of  mine. 


50 


THE  ANGEL'S  VISIT. 

In  our  chamber,  scant  and  meager, 

Lay  my  friend;  I  watched  beside, 
Waiting  patiently,  yet  eager 

For  the  turn  of  life's  low  tide. 
Midnight  came,  no  sound  or  motion 

In  the  dim,  uncertain  light: 
Would  this  bark  on  life's  broad  ocean 

Reach  its  port  this  fateful  night  ? 

Oh,  the  thought  my  spirit  maddened! 

All  my  life  were  chaos  then, 
Only  bittered,  crushed  and  saddened 

By  the  dreams  of  what  had  been. 
Up  I  sprang  with  imprecations — 

Threw  my  window  open  wide, 
There  to  still  my  brow's  pulsations 

In  the  night's  all-healing  tide. 

Pitying  skies  were  bending  o'er  me, 

Faithful  stars  their  vigils  kept. 
Wide  the  world  outspread  before  me 

Where  the  weary  mortals  slept. 
Ah,  but  hark!  a  sound  appealing, 

From  a  mansion  lone  and  far, 
On  the  waves  of  silence  stealing 

Notes  of  viol  and  guitar. 

51 


THE  ANGEL'S   VISIT. 

From  the  balls  of  wealth  and  splendor 

Came  those  melodies  divine, 
Touched  my  soul  with  pathos  tender 

In  that  poor  retreat  of  mine. 
And  I  said,  "O,  angel,  brooding 

O'er  this  couch  I  hold  so  dear, 
Enter  not,  thy  form  intruding, 

Come  not  near!  oh,  come  not  near!  " 

But  my  prayer  was  unavailing, 

For  within  my  humble  room, 
Robed  in  garments  dark  and  trailing, 

Moved  a  Shape  of  stately  gloom; 
Waved  its  hand  and  beckoned  to  me, 

I  could  choose  not  but  obey; 
With  a  subtle  power  it  drew  me 

And  I  questioned  not  the  way. 

Silently,  to  my  amazement, 

This  dark  presence  guiding  me, 
Out  we  floated  through  the  casement, 

Toward  the  halls  of  revelry. 
With  the  merry  dancers  speeding 

Through  the  mazes,  in  and  out, 
They  unknowing  or  unheeding 

That  we  joined  the  festive  rout. 

' '  Let  not  care  and  sorrow  darkle 

Hearts  that  burn  with  youth's  bright  fires, 
Ivips  that  smile  and  eyes  that  sparkle, 

Breasts  that  heave  with  love's  desires. 

52 


THE  ANGEL'S   VISIT. 

Gloom  and  sadness  leave  till  morrow 
Banish  grief  with  tuneful  tread; 

Joy  is  fleeting,  grasp  it;  sorrow 
Lingers  when  all  else  is  fled. 

So  we  wound  the  dreamy  measures 

While  the  viols  sobbed  and  wept, 
Till,  despite  those  fleeting  pleasures, 

In  my  heart  a  horror  crept! 
Then  the  vision  from  me  flitting, 

Left  me  in  the  morning  chill; 
By  my  window  I  was  sitting 

With  my  head  upon  the  sill. 

Sudden  fear  my  heart  appalling, 

Up  I  started  from  the  spot; 
By  the  bedside  kneeling,  calling 

To  the  form  that  answered  not. 
Nothing  more  the  pale  lips  uttered, 

Stilled  for  aye  the  faltering  breath, 
For  the  soul  had  outward  fluttered 

On  the  sable  wings  of  Death. 


53 


Go,  little  book,  with  right  good  will, 

Upon  thine  errand  sent; 
May  God  forbid  thou  bearest  ill 

Where  only  good  is  meant. 

To  render  less  the  load  of  care, 

The  weight  of  human  woe, 
To  whisper  hope  to  wan  despair, — 

For  this  I  bid  thee  go. 

And  if  thou  brought  some  sweet  return 

Of  kindly  thought  or  deed, 
If  friendship's  fires  should  brighter  burn, 

Oh!  that  were  blest  indeed. 


54 


7 


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